


Lost

by Impala_Cherry_Trickster



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Chronal Disassociation, Hurt Sam Winchester, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Protective Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Needs a Hug, Self-Esteem Issues, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-13 19:09:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21002720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impala_Cherry_Trickster/pseuds/Impala_Cherry_Trickster
Summary: Sam isn't really sure who he is anymore, or what his brother and best friend will do if they ever find out.





	Lost

‘Sam, are you alright?’ Was that him? The Hunter rubbed his face roughly, staring down at his palms as if he expected them to be covered in blood again. Squeezing his eyes shut, trying to ignore the litany of images that played behind his eyelids, he took a breath. He was fine. He was in the Bunker, and it was Castiel that was on the other side of the door. The question was probably because his brother, recently human again, was in the Bunker.

Sam stood up, finding himself unsteady on his feet, trying to forget everything that had happened. Too many things, too many issues, Sam was struggling. Dean didn’t know, couldn’t know, Sam had to stay quiet. His brother wouldn’t ever forgive himself, nor Sam, if he found out what happened. So, Sam put on a smile, walking to the door. It opened easily, a concerned Angel standing on the other side, Sam not quite meeting his eye.

‘I’m fine, Cas, just tired.’ Lies, all lies. _If you tell him the truth, he’ll never forgive you. _The Angel didn’t look convinced, but he had bigger concerns. Dean. Always Dean, always running after his brother, always loyal to him. Once upon a time, that might have hurt Sam, but now he understood it better. Why would anyone choose him, over the other Winchester? Dean was everything Sam couldn’t be, it made sense that the Angel would look after him.

‘Dean is becoming concerned.’ No, Dean couldn’t know what had happened. Could Castiel sense it? The Hunter shook his head internally, no, the Angel didn’t know. If he did, he would have told Dean already. His arm began to hurt, the pain throbbing angrily as he remembered his own weakness.

‘He needs to rest.’ Sam answered, brushing past the Angel, trying not to touch him. Truthfully, Sam was a disease. It was probably best that he wasn’t even in the Bunker, he would contaminate everything he touched, including the Angel and his brother.

_Dead, Dean had been dead. You carried his corpse. _

But Dean was alive, the younger convinced himself, hands shaking as he reached for a glass. The Kitchen was empty, Cas having walked in the direction of Dean’s room. As the tap turned on, the water hit his hand, scolding. Strangely, Sam didn’t really feel the heat, watching curiously as his skin turned red. Snatching it back quickly when he heard footsteps, he switched the water to cold, looking down at the burnt skin.

‘Sammy?’ Dean, that was Dean.

_You let him die, watched him die. Bled out. _

‘We don’t have any food. I’m going shopping.’ He didn’t look to his older brother, knowing that Dean would be able to read him like an open book. It wasn’t until he was in the Impala that Sam looked back to his hand, surprised to find the skin blistering. Why was he surprised?

_Because you’re the Monster, not Dean. You’re the Demon._

The drive should have taken around half-an-hour, but Sam found himself trundling, trying not to go back to the Bunker. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see Dean, he did, but Dean had DIED. Had bled out, Sam had watched and been useless, as usual. Then everything that happened since, the incident that he couldn’t tell his brother, and now Sam was walking around like a shadow, unsure why he felt so distant from himself.

Before he even realised what had happened, he had pulled up at the Health Clinic. He had gone before, the first time they had settled in the Bunker, wondering if Angels carried any diseases he should know about. The thought made his stomach sour, but Sam hesitantly got out of the Impala, the home he had always had.

The bell chimed, a woman perking up from behind the desk, eyes instantly meeting his. He lowered his gaze, slightly hesitant as he walked forwards. Why exactly was he doing this? Did he need to know? Would it make any difference, if he was unclean? Isn’t that exactly what the Demon blood had done to him, all that time ago?

It was over fairly quickly. She was sympathetic, explaining everything in a tone that made Sam want to scream, to rip his hair from his scalp, to bang his head against the wall until he actually felt real, until he felt like he was in his own body. But he didn’t, listening to what she had to say, doing everything and handing the samples in. Finally, just before he went to leave, she handed him a leaflet. He blinked in confusion, glancing to her, then to the words that he couldn’t acknowledge. Because Sam Winchester was a Hunter, and he couldn’t be brought down by something as simple as a human.

Later that night, standing in the shower and watching blood pool at his feet, Sam finally felt like he was back in his body. The steamed-up mirror showed his own body, the thing he had come to resent. His ribs were countable, something he hadn't noticed while searching for his brother. His stomach was still bruised, fingertip-marks on his hips. Slowly, turning to see the letters carved into his back, the Hunter finally looked at what the Human had done.

_FREAK_

Wasn’t it true? Wasn’t that why he was standing in the shower, staring down at the cuts he had made on his arm? It hurt, stretching out the arm that was damaged, feeling his weaker body strain under the pressure.

_FREAK_

His room was empty, thankfully, so Sam could sit down on the bed and reach for the leaflet that the woman had given him. Victim, the first word he saw. But that wasn’t true, he wasn’t a victim. He was a freak, the monster that kept bringing trouble. The one that couldn’t save his brother from bleeding out, eyes rolling to the side as his body went lax, the words he was about to say dying on his lips. Because nothing could change that, not the blood that was still trickling from his arm, nor the stupid leaflet she had given him.

The scream that broke out was one of anguish, and he couldn’t swallow it down. His arms spread out, ignoring the pain from his elbow, lashing out at the desk. Upturned, things skidding across the room. Next was the bed, tearing the sheets and throwing them from the frame, kicking it hard enough to break. The mirror, shattered under his fist, glass shards spreading out onto the floor. He caught a glimpse of his reflection, the body he was in, the person he was.

_FREAK_

The door was rattling, someone that sounded like Dean and Cas on the other side. Sam rose his fingers to his face, ignoring the blood on them, and was surprised to find himself crying. Was he in pain? He looked to the room, slowly sinking to his knees and listening to the crunch of the mirror shards under them. He didn’t bother reaching for a shirt, didn’t bother doing anything, just tried to remember why he was still here.

It was Dean that was shouting, words Sam couldn’t really hear, but he understood what his brother must be saying.

_Worthless freak, why would he want you here? You might as well do it._

It, Sam thought, glancing to one of the mirror shards. His bloody fingers closed over it, flicking it over in his grasp, staring at his broken reflection. It was hard to recognise the face staring back, the broken expression and the empty eyes. The shard was cool against his skin, his neck tilting until he found his pulse. For once, in that moment, Sam could understand why he had come to this conclusion. After everything that had happened, was it not easier to settle blood with blood?

_Dean’s dead. Demon Dean. Cole. Freak, worthless, nothing more than a toy. _

_‘Guess big brother really isn’t coming, is he?’_

Sam sighed, pressing down slightly onto his skin, before warmth grabbed him. He wasn’t even really aware what was going on, just that somebody was trying to pull his arm away from his neck, and that he was struggling against them. A body was pressed behind him, arms wrapping around his waist as he fought the person in front, trying to regain whatever calmness he had felt in the moment he had lost.

Two fingers pressed to his forehead, and before Sam could even think to complain, he was unconscious.

**

_‘I really thought he would come.’ Cole remarked, toying with the knife in his hands. Sam was still strapped down, but his shirt was torn, jeans in tatters. He was pretty sure he was bleeding, and the cuts on his back weren’t the only source. The Hunter rose his head, staring at the fully-clothed man in front of him, biting back the curses that tried to spill. _

_‘Guess I’ll just have to find another source of entertainment.’ Cold eyes, staring right into his soul. Sam didn’t even get to scream this time, the blood loss became too much. _

**

When he woke, it was to the faint buzz of conversation. He was careful to control his breathing, identifying the voices as his brother, and Castiel. Sam wasn’t entirely sure what had happened the night before, just remembered the utter emptiness in his stomach, the feeling of guilt spreading through his veins.

‘They carved him up, Cas! I can’t forget that!’ Sam flicked his eyes open at that, adjusting to the light levels in time to see both of the men turning to face him. Dean turned his attention so quickly that Sam flinched, remembering the way that Cole had turned.

‘Sammy, it’s me.’ Dean’s voice was soft, like he was trying to soothe an animal. Sam said nothing, sitting up slowly and realising the cuts on his wrists were gone, as was the pain in his elbow. He had argued that Cas didn’t need to heal him, but evidently that hadn't been listened to.

‘I can see that.’ He finally said, standing up out of the bed he was in, pleased to see himself still in the clothes he had been in last night. His brother was staring at him, even as Sam moved across to retrieve his knife, felt both the Angel and Hunter tense. He did nothing more than tuck it into his belt, before turning to his brother.

‘Finished resting?’ A case. That was what Sam needed, something to get his mind off of the current issues.

‘Sam, we need to talk.’ Wasn’t he the one always pushing his brother to talk? Sam paused, finally turning fully towards Dean.

‘Is it about what I did as a Demon?’ They didn’t know. They hadn't figured it out. Sam could almost cry with relief, face relaxing.

‘Dean, that wasn’t you.’ Instinct took over his voice, urging himself to remind his brother that it wasn’t his fault. That had Dean’s face crinkling up, a look of confusion that Sam only rarely saw.

‘Who carved you up?’ Castiel shot Dean the worst look possible, Sam losing the sensation in his legs at the question. His mind went blank, trying not to remember the real reason, before he found his voice again.

‘Cole.’ That wasn’t a lie, was it? He had dealt with worse than this, he had managed to keep Lucifer a secret, why was this so difficult?

‘Sonofabitch.’ Dean snapped, running a hand through his hair while Castiel studied Sam, like he knew something the older Hunter didn’t. Dean turned, storming from the room in a move that was very much practiced, while the Angel cocked his head.

‘You are hiding something from us.’ A correct observation, Sam thought, knowing how smart the Angel was. So was Dean, but he often got blinded as soon as he found out Sam was hurt.

‘It’s nothing.’

‘Your phone rang this morning. A Nurse, I believe.’ Sam froze, watched as Castiel continued studying him. Finally, the Angel turned to the door, pausing momentarily in the doorway.

‘You should know, Sam, that I care for both of you equally. Whatever it is, we can help. I can help.’ There was hope in his tone, something that Sam hated, especially as he turned his back to the Angel. Eventually, he would have to explain. Once Dean had finished threatening to kill everything in sight, he would ask what Sam had been doing with a shard of glass. He would ask about the bruises, and the carving, and everything else that had happened.

But for now, the younger Winchester could hope everything went away.


End file.
